


Cor Cordis

by bondageluvr, poetofthefall



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Amnesia, Drama, M/M, Memory Loss, Romance, Slash, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bondageluvr/pseuds/bondageluvr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetofthefall/pseuds/poetofthefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian has been looking for James Moriarty relentlessly, refusing to believe that the world's greatest criminal mind was dead. What he finds, though, is a broken man named Richard Brook- a mere shadow of his old self. Will Sebastian be able to restore Jim to his former glory, or will the consulting criminal live on only in the memories of the man he used to love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What you, are about to read is the product of the workings of two brilliant minds; poetofthefall and myself. This began as an RP and has been expanded since into what I hope will become a wonderful story.
> 
> Analyzed and stuck together by me, beta'd and rewritten by Anna.

**MORMOR**

Sebastian took a deep breath, hoping to steady himself – without much success – before looking down at the phone screen. This was the place, according to the obscure text message he had gotten from one of their contacts. Unthinkingly, perhaps, the sniper had headed out immediately, not pausing to consider if it was a well-laid trap or not. That hardly mattered anymore: he'd been waiting for this exact text for ages. Sebastian promised himself all those months ago he would either find  _him_  or die trying. It wasn't as if he had much to live for otherwise.

The building looked bloody awful. The paint on the walls of the four-story building was peeling, and half of the windows looked like they did nothing to keep out the late-autumn chill. Insulation stuck out at odd angles from under the questionably safe roof hanging over Sebastian's head. The doors looked like they had been scratched with human fingernails and animal claws, decade-old signs barely hanging onto them. It was impossible to read what they said through the dirt and years of graffiti plastered over them. It looked almost like something out of a very badly-written gothic novel.

Sebastian closed his eyes to collect himself, inhaling deeply, before he pushed the ancient door handle down. It creaked under his touch – a bolt came loose and it swung sideways. Stifling down his anxiety, Sebastian Moran stepped into the cold hallways of Baskerville Mental Facility.

**MORMOR**

Richard's eyes snapped open. He lay on his cot, breathing heavily, trying not torelive the horrid nightmare that haunted him every damn night for the past… Month? Year? Century? With a small groan, he let his eyelids slide shut, as there was really nothing to look at anyway. Chipped tiles, mould on the once-taupe ceilings, a heavy metal door that had safety padding hanging limply from its panel. It was all too familiar now, even though he was quite sure he hadn't been in here for a long time. He didn't know exactly.

He didn't know much of anything anymore.

They didn't let him out of his holding cell, not after he'd dared hit his attending  _doctor_ (who could have been in charge of the Spanish Inquisition, considering his methods of punishment) when out on a walk around the dingy courtyard. Richard saw very few people here. Those people that he did, he never tried to associate with. They were all insane.

Richard knew he wasn't as crazy as they were.

Some of the other prisoners (because no matter what the wardens were called, no matter what the old building was labeled as, that was what they  _really_ were) walked around the corridors, jaws hanging slack, eyes wide open and their pupils the size of coat buttons. Those people never spoke. Some of the prisoners – as Richard liked to think of them – almost never left their cells. They were screamers, banging relentlessly on the walls at all hours. They would usually have to be sedated. All of them had bags under their eyes which had gone from yellowish to lilac to violet to almost black. They never talked. Sometimes, though, Richard could hear their anguished cries at night, as the doctors came in to visit them in their cells. The nights here were the worst.

**MORMOR**

Sebastian felt sick as he slipped the envelope into the doctor's ratty lab coat pocket. The man didn't deserve a penny. He deserved to follow in the footsteps of the rest of those who dared keep Jim from him. A slow death. Howling like the dogs they were. This  _doctor_ was one of them, the ones who kept Jim locked up. So long. Too long.

As the greedy man smirked at him in what he probably thought was a friendly way, Sebastian had to dig his fingernails into the palms of his hands in order to suppress the urge to snap his neck. At long last, they reached the end of the corridor where, with not so much as a name plaque, was the door of Richard Brook's room.

The watery-eyed, rodent-like doctor pulled out a rusty key and turned it twice in the keyhole before giving it half a turn back.  _A lock with a trick_ , Sebastian mused. Not that it would have stopped the Jim he knew, had he wanted to escape.  _(Had he anything to escape for)._

Sebastian gave the man a sharp look and he recoiled, stepping away and letting the taller man swing the door open. What he saw nearly forced him to grab onto the padded wall for support.

"Jim…" He breathed, barely aware of the cracks in his underused voice.

The cot stirred with the movement of the small form which had been lying on it, staring up at the ceiling.  _Fucking hell,_  Sebastian thought. It was obvious now why the facility didn't have mirrors anywhere, except for a small looking glass in the head doctor's office.

The man on the cot was a shadow; sickly thin, with match-like pale arms sticking out from his white T-shirt that boasted the hospital's logo and knobby knees, visible through the thin cotton pants he had been provided with. His hair was unkempt, looking almost as if someone had attempted to crop it short but failed to complete their task because he had put up a fight. His face was covered in tiny scratches and yellowing bruises. The worst, though, were his eyes. Dark as night and hollow, so unbearably, unnaturally  _hollow_. They didn't look like Jim's. They were familiar in another way: they seemed almost like a dead man's, staring up at the world, unnoticing, uncaring.

Richard surveyed the outsider, clad in dark jeans and a black shirt with a leather jacket. Blond. Tall, almost nearing six foot three. Blue eyes. A strange rush of  _something_  prickled in his brain. He didn't know who the man was, but it seemed unnatural to call him a stranger. It was a veiled sort of familiarity; the way one would half-recognize somebody they had seen on the train a few days ago, or somebody they'd been standing behind in line shopping for groceries.

"Jim?" Richard asked cautiously, voice hoarse from disuse.

"Oh," Sebastian whispered, shocking himself by pressing the back of his hand to his mouth and biting down hard to prevent from turning and chasing after the doctor, just for someone to release this… sudden rush of whatever it was. He wasn't ready for this, he realized. He had come here to find James Moriarty, the prick of a mastermind and the most brilliant man to ever walk the planet. Sebastian hadn't been prepared to meet such a pitiful, starving, broken man sitting on a dirty cot. He wanted to simultaneously kill something and collapse into a heap. "What've they  _done_ to you?"

_Oh, he's horrified,_  Richard thought amusedly. He could see it in the man's eyes more prominently than anywhere else, despite his obviously disturbed body language.  _How flattering. How refreshing_. Richard gave him an empty smile.

"Should I categorize the list chronologically or alphabetically?"

That did it. In an instant, Sebastian was across the room and before either of them was able to register it, he had Jim's pale face in his hands, his sharp sniper's eyes examining the drawn, bruised flesh. The damage was more severe then it looked, at least physically. The same couldn't be said for Jim's mind. His brilliant, fantastic,  _terrible_  mind.

"Tell me," Sebastian said quietly, almost dangerously, not letting go of Jim's face.

Richard drew his back, moving away from the blonde man and his calloused hands instinctively. He glared, his dull, bottomless eyes darkening. If the man wasn't a doctor, then Richard had no reason to be careful with his words.

"I don't know who you are or why you're so concerned, so you can either explain or shove it and leave me to rot," he said sharply, anger flooding his veins. How peculiar. He hadn't felt much for a long while. Glowering, he added: "And my name is Richard, not  _Jim_. Touch me again. I dare you."

All of a sudden, Sebastian knew how John Watson must have felt when his heart had been slammed into the pavement beside Saint Bartholomew's Hospital. Jim didn't remember. Not even his body did. No flesh memory. Nothing. Sebastian had known something would be different, he had been aware of the fact things wouldn't be the same when and if he ever found Jim. He hadn't known, couldn't have known, that everything would have changed.

"I would never leave you to rot." Then, like Jim had done to him so many years ago, on a similar autumn day, Sebastian stretched out his hand: "Here. My name is Sebastian Moran. I work for you."

_Never leave me to rot, right. Then where have you_ been,  _if you care so very fucking much?_ The thought and the brief feeling of betrayal escaped from the tight little box Richard had locked away those pesky emotions in. Why? It wasn't as if he knew the man well enough to be betrayed. Richard looked at...  _Sebastian_ distrustfully, and dropped his gaze down to the hand.

_Be carful,_ he reminded himself.  _This could be one of the doctors' tests. Just a test. Not real._

For some reason though, he didn't really believe that. Somehow, stupidly enough, he  _knew_ that he had been acquainted with the man in front of him.  _Why the fuck not._  Anything would be better than being stuck in this empty hellhole. And if he remembered correctly (probably not; he didn't seem to be very good at  _remembering_ ), it was almost his turn to be the lab rat.

He lifted a cold hand to grip Sebastian's slackly. And then, cautiously, slowly:

"You work for me. As what?"

Sebastian looked at their joined hands for a brief moment, swallowing  _(and it was like the_ first time _, only not, because it was_ Jim _who was broken and sick and uncaring, and not him)_ before raising his eyes to level his gaze with Jim's. Black locked with blue and for a second he could almost pretend it was just like old times. Only the formerly gorgeous brown eyes were cold and dead, and his own were more desperate. He could see the disbelief, the horrible mistrust in Jim's features and it... felt destructive. It figured that just after meeting him again, for the first time in almost a year, Jim would be hurting him more already.

"I'm your bodyguard and sniper," he said decidedly, thinking not to mention any other aspect to their relationship. "Your wingman."

Jim licked his lips, a bit of interest sparking in his mind.

"My _sniper_. Am I a criminal, then?" He didn't bother to ask if he worked for the government. He knew he didn't. It wasn't right, someone would have come for him already and there was no way he would be a politician. It didn't fit right.

Sebastian gave him a small smile, the corners of his mouth jerking up spasmodically:

" _The_  criminal, in fact. James Moriarty, the greatest criminal mind to walk the Earth."

Jim raised his eyebrows and felt a bit of faint amusement for the first time  _literally_  since he could remember. His first emotion outside of anger; how nice.

"Thank you, I suppose. My name is James, then." He hummed thoughtfully to himself, familiarly. "I don't like it."

Sebastian broke into a grin, watching the man's gaunt face transform into something a bit more... alive. It wasn't like before; the bones were to prominent, the eyes still empty. Two black holes. But it was a start, at least.

"Well, you always  _did_  prefer Jim. James was too formal for your poncey arse."

"Watch it. I  _am_ your boss," Jim scolded, and there was another momentary flash of familiarity at his sniper's grin, which exuded warmth for only him. He felt disturbed with his little outburst. The words felt familiar in his mouth, natural, as if he had said them many times before, like a hello or goodbye. Maybe he had. Maybe Sebastian hadn't been a very obedient pet.

Sebastian's heart skipped a beat. There it was, that malicious intonation, that little crease in his laugh line when he smirked. It was still Richard Brook. But not quite. Not for much longer, if he had any say, if he was strong enough to return the sickly man before him back into _his_  Jim.

"Either way, I'm still currently a ' _patient_ ' in a ' _mental hospital_ '. What are we going to do about that?" Jim asked instead of investigating the distracting twinges of emotion that were inching at his mind. First, before anything else happened, they needed to leave.  _He_  needed to leave. The walls were oppressive. He needed to breathe fresh air. He needed to see the sky again.

"I could just shoot about everyone in this place, Boss," Sebastian said, voice cracking at the title he hadn't used ever since the other man had fallen off the face of the Earth. He could actually do something now; make progress, move forward. The first step to saving Jim Moriarty like he had done so many times before.

Richard–, no,  _Jim_ , felt a disturbing, but not unexpected shock of relief.

"Well then, go out and do it," he ordered without thought. He wanted to watch all of those bastards  _burn_. Burn. Burn. That was a nice word, wasn't it? It fit. He could tell it fit; it was a good word. Natural.

Sebastian grinned at that bossy, careless tone and stood up from where he had been kneeling, pulling Jim up together with him.

"Let's go, then." He looked around the miserable hospital room... no, cell, and he winced at the thought of himself faffing about their luxurious three-story suite for eight months, thinking himself the victim.

"Is there anything you need to take from here?" He asked, severely doubting it. The shorter man gave him an incredulous look. Sebastian let a smile ghost over his lips as he grasped Jim's elbow and tugged him to the door: "Come on then."

Jim jerked away. Of course. Never one to be led around, even now, after all this. That was good, still the same.

The door creaked open and they both slipped out, running down the corridor. They took a left turn and came face to face with one of the doctors – the one from before, whom Sebastian had wanted so much to kill. His lucky day, it seemed. The sniper slid his beloved T/C Contender out of his sleeve and turned to Jim:

"You sure, Boss? Might not want to see this after all you've been through."

Jim licked his lips, not moving his gaze from the 'Doctor' in front of him. Dr. Peterson, he recalled. A particularly cruel bastard. He would be glad to see the man's corpse.

"I'm a psychopathic mass murderer, aren't I? I think I'll have to get used to it," he said, voice empty, perhaps, with a hint of a dangerous purr. "Might even like it."

Sebastian hummed in approval as Jim expressed his thoughts. He was learning fast. The doctor stood dead in his tracks, watching the exchange with wide eyes. The  _patients_ never escaped. They were never disobedient, his staff made  _sure_  of that. Then again, they never had help from outside.

"You!" He shouted across the hallway, voice shaking. "Put that down!"

Letting the memories wash over him - the multiple times they had been caught in the exact same situation - Sebastian suppressed the trigger and watched passionlessly as the man let out a terrified whimper and fell to the ground, a dark round hole between his eyebrows. It was still satisfying, as ever.

"You alright?" Sebastian asked Jim, who stood rooted to the spot. Countless scenes flashed in front of him. A short brunette woman gurgling as blood ran from her mouth. A chubby blonde being stabbed in the chest with a butterfly knife. A man being shot directly in the middle of his forehead. A child with glasses, a plain girl, an albino, an old man, a tall man with a scar, a man, man, woman, teenager – all being killed: cleanly with a bullet to the head or messily with a knife and there was always blood, always the same faint smirk from the tall figure somewhere he couldn't pin down.

He didn't notice himself collapsing, completely enveloped by the recollections appearing before him.

"Boss?" Sebastian's breath caught in his throat as he rushed to move behind Jim so that the shorter man would fall against his chest. This wasn't a good idea, he should have known it wasn't, fucking hell–,

"Jim? Are you alright? God, Jim-,"

Jim's eyes were vacant, his entire body limp. It was a few moments later when he finally jerked violently, blinked and raised a hand to his aching head:

" _Fuck._ " Sebastian covered Jim's hand with his own and twisted him over in to look him in the eye:

"What is it?" Jim closed his eyes.

"Bunch of people dying," he gritted out. "Memories. Maybe." His head was pounding, brain pulsing against his suddenly too-tight skull.

Sebastian nodded, keeping a firm hold on Jim:

"Definitely memories. Maybe we should get out of here quietly. Save the killing for later. What do you say?" Ever the soldier, asking for orders, even though he knew what was best.  _How sweet,_  Rich-, Jim thought sourly.

Jim wanted to see more, but didn't protest.

"Alright," he responded simply, not wanting to say too much. Every word was a hammer cracking against the back of his skull. "Let's go."

Sebastian's mouth twitched in a half-smirk and, before Jim could protest, the sniper hoisted him up into his arms and ran down the corridor. Marveling at how light the smaller man seemed in his hold, he asked: "Did you eat here at all?"

Jim scowled, but didn't try to push the taller man away. So much contact – any non-hostile contact at all, really –seemed odd, made him a bit jumpy.

"Occasionally. It's disgusting, so I ate what I need to live."  _For some reason,_  he finished internally. He shrugged, remembering the terrible food and simultaneously how hungry he was. He ignored it. "Tasted like fucking glue."

Sebastian smiled, truly, for the first time in a very long while. "I'm taking you home and then we'll get you some proper food."

He continued running soundlessly down the deserted corridor, his senses extra-alert, seeking out any disturbances.

"I don't know if you remember this, but when we met, you were the one to teach me everything about the better life. You taught me to like sushi and Belgian chocolate."

"Not together, I hope," Jim mumbled in disgust, wrapping his arms around the taller man's neck in order to keep from falling. Touch still seemed unnatural, even with someone he had supposedly known and trusted. "They both sound better than the gruel here, at least. But I can't remember how they taste."

Sebastian felt a twinge of sadness at the man's words. Tightening his arms around Jim, he shook his head, almost bashfully:

"You always said they were almost better than sex. Almost. Before-,"  _Shit._  No, no, he wasn't supposed to go into that side. Hopefully Jim didn't connect anything there.

But Jim just smiled a bit, the muscles of his face feeling strange at the movement.  _And why would I tell you that, Sebastian? Is there something you're not saying?_

"Are we almost there?"

Sebastian nodded:

"Yes, as far as I can remember, it's right around the-," He didn't get to finish the sentence – three people in white medical coats and wielding guns rounded the corner. Jim's eyes widened marginally, and he instinctively pressed back into the taller man. He recognized them – they doubled as security around here. And they almost definitely  _hated_  him, after he'd attacked that man in the courtyard.

Sebastian felt Jim go rigid in his arms and ground his teeth, watching the men's movements. Incompetent idiots, meant to take down by force, not precision. With a pleasant smile he had learnt from the Master himself, he took out the gun and shot three bullets. Three men, right between the eyes. As the men dropped dead, he looked down at Jim, who seemed so inexplicably small cradled to his chest:

"You alright to go on?"

Jim licked his lips once more, and nodded. It seemed that all of the memories had already flooded out, leaving his head feeling empty, like it was missing something. Now it had tasted blood, and it wanted more. The rest of the memories, what had happened before.

"Yes. Now hurry up, will you?"

"Okay, Boss," Sebastian replied and finally,  _finally_  ran out of the main hospital entrance, along the wall, so as not to get caught on camera, and to the ridiculously expensive Cadillac that was parked, rather illegally, on the hospital premises.

Jim snapped his eyes shut at the sudden change in lighting. He hadn't been outside for quite a while. He breathed deeply, tasting the sting of the autumn air. When he opened them again, his gaze was drawn to the obviously expensive car.  _I don't think I'm going to dislike my new–, or rather, old, lifestyle._

Sebastian grinned slightly at Jim's pleasure, a spark of it showing in his eyes – just a bit, but it was enough, – and clicked the car door open, settling Jim into the passenger seat before quickly running around the boot to sit down in the driver's place. He looked pointedly at the undone seatbelt. Jim raised an eyebrow, and the sniper rolled his eyes, leaning over to fix it.

"You always did disregard safety."

"I'm apparently the most dangerous criminal in London, it's in the job description." Jim let Sebastian strap him in and waited until he started the car to ask: "So, where is this flat?"

Sebastian revved the car up and sped down the lane and onto the highway, completely ignoring the seed limit. He felt a bit of pleasure at Jim's response – at least his character hadn't changed much, despite it all.

"Not really a flat." He spared a glance at the other man: "With these cases, you have to remember me yourself, I can't push you. Think. Think."

Jim glared. He hated not being able to remember this whole life he used to have – it made him feel helpless, empty. Broken in a way he couldn't fix, and all the weaker for it. But whenever he tried to recollect anything at all, his head started to ache and after the bombardment of memories just a few minutes ago, it still pounded like a war drum.

"If I could remember, do you think I'd be asking you?" He snapped.

"Okay," Sebastian said patiently, putting his right hand on Jim's in a comforting manner. "Close your eyes. That's it."

He stroked the hand with his thumb. "Now try to picture it. Your perfect home. You always get what you want, so your home is definitely the home that you've always dreamt of. Tell me."

"Stop being so condescending." Jim scowled, pulling his hand away. Talking to him like one would to a  _child_. Rubbing his hand as if he needed to be comforted – he couldn't remember where he lived, that didn't mean he was a hapless, clueless idiot. How condescending.

Sebastian took his hand away, hurt a bit at the rebuke. Jim had always been the tactile one in their relationship and this changing shocked the sniper into a new reality - Jim wasn't himself without his memories. Sebastian's hand shook on the steering wheel.

"All right, I won't."

Jim glanced at him sideways, feeling a twinge of regret at Sebastian's reaction. Regret, how strange. Interesting, really, this new thing; he had deserved it, so why did Jim feel sorry? He refrained from apologizing though, as he could already tell that that just wasn't how he worked. After all, it was the sniper's own fault. "Yes. Give me a hint, at least."

The sniper exhaled, working his jaw slowly. This was going to be difficult, he knew. Jim was not easy to deal with in any situation, memories or not. "Fine. Can you tell me which way I'm driving?"

Jim peered out of the window, the answer coming to him easily. "South."

Sebastian smiled a little, crookedly, and continued: "Now, if you had a choice between living in the woods, the city, or by the sea, which would you pick?"

Jim didn't have to think there, either. "The city."

"Good. Now. Which city would be your playground?"

"London." Jim answered immediately, smirking to himself. How he knew what that, was he didn't know – but there was the same feeling he'd had with Sebastian, only now, it seemed like an old friend he'd known a long time ago, and he'd heard her name.

"And where in city? Where does all life happen in London?"

Jim thought for a moment, his fingers beginning to tap rhythmically on his thigh. Sebastian's smile became more prominent. "You used to do that. The tapping thing."

Jim looked down at his hand and forced himself to stop.

"I don't know the answer to your question," he forced himself to admit after a long moment.

"See, I don't believe that now. Because sitting right next to me is the most brilliant man in the world."

Jim couldn't help but smirk at that, his tongue between his lips. His ego, clearly, was still in tact, at least "Alright then. The center of all life in London... the City," he finished after a while.

Sebastian slumped down in his seat, chuckling: "You know how difficult it is to buy real estate there, what with all the offices and banks? Well, you managed. But what exactly is it, hmm? Not a house and not a flat?"

Jim raised his eyebrows:

"A library? I don't bloody know. Give me another clue."

"You like to watch people go about their lives. Now. From where can you do that?"

"Ah. A skyscraper...?"

"More specifically… Where in the skyscraper?"

The absent-minded tapping began again. "A penthouse."

"The Starlight Cross building." Sebastian observed the other man for a moment: "It's fine if you don't want to tell me... But what  _did_  they do to you?"

The tapping stopped, and Jim looked away once more. It's a while before he spoke, stiffly, coldly as he had the first time he'd spoken to the sniper: "Judging from what I've gathered, this might not be the opportune time to tell you, still being so close to the building. Besides; it really isn't your business."

Sebastian shook his head at the observation:

"I can handle it." Biting his tongue thoughtfully, he turned to Jim and finally said what had been on his mind: "If I could handle several months without you, I think I'll overcome this."

…That, at least, didn't sound very much like what a simple employee would say.

"Oh  _no_ , I have no doubt that you can  _handle_  it, I just would rather wait until we're further away from the hospital. So you can't go back and kill everyone," Jim explained, not responding to the rest of what Sebastian said.

Sebastian looked away, ashamed. It was idiotic, really. He couldn't even look the man in the bloody eye. Jim ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth: apparently he had a bit of an oral fixation, Jim had noticed it a few – weeks? Months? – prior.

"I take it our relationship was more then platonic."

It wasn't a question.

Sebastian ground his teeth, before sighing shakily, looking a bit nervous for the first time as he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and held up two simple platinum bands: "Set the date for April."

Jim froze, breath catching in his throat. From non-platonic to engaged in seconds.  _Engaged_ , he thought incredulously.  _I'm to be married to someone I haven't even known for a day. No, someone that I can't remember knowing for more than a day. I was presumably in love with that someone. That_ can't _fit._ But it did.

"Oh," he said blankly. "I see."

Sebastian closed his hand around the bands, throat clenching painfully. He swallowed.

"It's off, of course. I don't know why I kept them, really." He laughed hollowly, hand dropping to his side uselessly.

Jim felt a sharp tugging in his chest at that familiar but unfamiliar sound, and the guilt came rushing in for the first time. Ugly, painful and gripping. Guilt for not remembering. For not being Jim Moriarty - not really. He wasn't that same man anymore. For leaving the man beside him, who must have loved him, with this empty shell. He couldn't even remember meeting the man, for god's sake. Jim looked away, biting his tongue.

"Uhm," Sebastian cleared his throat, blinking away the faint stinging in the back of his eyes – crying was not a very good idea while driving. _Not with Jim around either_ , he reminded himself. He pocketed the rings with one definitive motion and turned to look at Jim, who sat stock-still, his lip squeezed tightly between his teeth.

"Hey," he said, unsure of how to treat Jim now. "We'll… take this a step at a time, alright? We will get your memory back, then your empire. I can wait. Okay?"

_No. Not okay,_ Jim wanted to say, clenching his jaw. The only person who wanted to help him – the only one he trusted, even now, after having just met him – and that was clear now, that he did trust Sebastian, despite himself – well, he had done _this_  him. But of course, he was the most dangerous man in London. He didn't work like that. So he pushed it away, and nodded. "Fine."

Sebastian inhaled steadily: "You know, this is quite ironic. When we first met, you were the one who knew every single thing about me. Do you remember?"

Jim ran a hand through his hair, and shook his head stiffly.

"No. Give me a reminder. Might jog my memory," he requested a bit hopelessly. Sebastian coughed, the tightness in his chest hurting more. Fucking emotions. Never had been able to control them around Jim.

"I was a soldier. In Afghanistan."

The criminal felt… nothing. Not the same feeling of vague familiarity as he had done before but still, he nodded.

"Go on."

"I... I was on a mission and it all went to hell. One moment I'm lying low with my machine gun and the next, we all go up into the air." Sebastian laughed softly, bitterly. "I remember waking up in the infirmary and you were there, wearing an expensive suit... Can you tell me the brand name?"

"Westwood," Jim supplied automatically, if not a bit absent-mindedly. His headache was beginning to increase, which, ironically, might have been a good thing.

"Go on," Jim repeated. Sebastian smiled.

"Anyway, you were smirking down at me, saying something about a job but I was pretty drugged up on painkillers, so the only reason why I listened was because I love… _Loved_  your accent."

Jim raised an eyebrow:

"You don't anymore? I'm a bit hurt," he said mock-teasingly – but, for a purpose. He wanted to know how the sniper felt now.

Sebastian turned away, muttering: "I do. Didn't think it was appropriate, given the circumstances. Anyway, you were talking and I fell asleep. The next time I came to it was to your voice, once again. You joked about me getting flustered over you Irish lilt like a little lady. Then you proceeded to tell me every minor detail of my life."

Jim furrowed his eyebrows slightly, something seemingly random coming to mind: "I remember something about alcohol."

Sebastian sighed. Of course he would remember that.

"Before I enlisted, I had a problem with liquor. Dropped out of school. You told me you could teach me to control my craving. You did."

"And have you been controlling it for these past few months?"

"Yes, sir," Sebastian said dejectedly. "Only had a glass in your honor when you died. I mean... Disappeared."

Jim stayed silent, asides from a murmured, automatic ' _good boy_ ', not wanting to hear any more of Sebastian's disappointment. Sebastian tensed, his fingers going white around the steering wheel.

"You used to say that." He shook his head: "Look at me being all selfish. I don't know how hard this must be for you."

"I still say it, apparently." Jim snapped. "It's fine."

Sebastian spared the man a glance out of the corner of his eye: "We lived together from the very start. Not because we were... you know, _involved_ , but because I had nowhere to go and you needed someone at your beck and call."

"So you were at my beck and call?" A raised eyebrow.

"I still am," Sebastian laughed hollowly. "Always."

At that, an apparently familiar word, a searing pain flashed through Jim's brain, and he instinctively pressed a hand to his head. "Fuck."

"Jim-?" Sebastian turned to look at the man, worried. He steered the car off the highway, putting it into neutral by the side of the road. "Are you okay?"

Jim bit his tongue, staying silent for a few moments. "I'm fine. Must be the-," he stops before saying 'treatments'. He didn't need Sebastian curious about that, not now or  _ever_. "Just keep driving. How long until we arrive?"

"The what?" Sebastian asked, gripping Jim's shoulder tightly. He shook the man slightly: "The  _what_ , Jim?"

Jim pulled away, scowling now.

"I said nothing, now drive," he ordered coldly, a bit of his old self flashing through, perhaps, or maybe it was his current personality.

Sebastian twisted the transmission into drive and continued down the highway quietly, tensely, not saying another word. What had happened to Jim there?  _Why wouldn't the stubborn bloody man just fucking tell him?_

Jim leaned his forehead against the cool window, resolving to stay quiet for the rest of the drive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Mariya]: Thank you to all the wonderful people that reviewed the previous (and first) chapter. I think it's safe to say that neither Anna nor I expected such amazing feedback.
> 
> Right now, I, bondageluvr (or Mariya, for a rose by any other name would smell as sweet), am slowly going through the painstaking process of packing for university in Spain. I know it's probably one of my most insane ideas but right now it all still feels right. Anna, on the other hand, has gone off on a mountain trip with her family, therefore I'm taking charge of this for now.
> 
> [Anna]: And I, Lectorem, AM BACK BITCHES HOPE YOU MISSED ME HAHA. AND I DIDBETA THIS. NOW READ THIS AMAZING FANFICTION PEASANTS.
> 
> [Mariya]: As always, please review and favorite the story. We will try to update a bit faster next time.
> 
> [Anna]: She's given me a deadline. Ooooh. And also I promise Jim is like this because he's 'Richard-esqe', more innocent then before.

A long, uncomfortable hour later, they pulled up next to the building where their penthouse was nestled, overlooking the entire City. It really was a magnificent location, Sebastian thought to himself, and also functional for the kind of life they lead: a helicopter roof, a couple of exclusive escape runways just in case, including several covert ladders and subterranean passages, twenty-four/seven security – burly men carrying  _serious_  handguns, none of that  _taser_ nonsense... The whole vast entity was made up of Plexiglas and steel, ascending to a whooping sixty stories. At the very tiptop, offering perhaps one of the most magnificent views of the city of London, the last three floors were occupied by Jim and Sebastian: their flat was more secure than a bunker and much more comfortable than one.

Sebastian steered the car into a sheltered parking space reserved specifically for their vehicles, away from the prying eyes of the businessmen who went about their jobs in the same building, not knowing how close to actual danger they worked to. Theirs was the only residential space in the whole lot. Jim liked it that way, claiming that the muffled noises of printers and copy machines from below lulled him to sleep. Sebastian only could have nodded in agreement with his Boss at the time. Otherwise, he would have found himself without some very vital body parts.

"We're here."

Jim jerked awake, having stared to drift away to the sound of the tires rolling against the smooth asphalt. He blinked a few times before nodding. "Good," he mumbled, unstrapping himself before shifting towards the car window and taking a long look at the place he used to - the place which he  _called_  home. He resisted the urge to let out an impressed whistle.

"So, you coming?" Sebastian asked sharply before clicking the button on his own seat belt and releasing himself. He barely spared Jim a glance as he opened the car door and walked out, around the hood, and snapped the door open for his boss. Jim only scoffed something under his breath (which sounded suspiciously like ' _arsehole'_ ), and got out of the car, mumbling semi-sleepily all the while. Sebastian rolled his eyes and turned the car alarm on before grasping Jim's hand, linking their arms and dragging the man towards the building as he stumbled in a quite undignified way.

"Nobody knows about your memory loss around here. I suggest we don't give them any ideas. Aloof, Boss."

Jim was finally able to catch up with Sebastian's long strides and managed to subtly kick the other man's ankle.

"Very well. Anything else I should know,  _Master_?" He sneered, sulking like a sinister three-year-old. Sebastian's hard features softened at that. He could hear the real Jim Moriarty beneath that weakened exterior - the sniping, sarcastic, brilliant mess of a man. He lowered his mouth to Jim's ear, brushing the skin as he spoke:

"You are the Master here, Boss. Show them."

The shorter man successfully ignored the kink in his heart. Was that really necessary? Though, if Sebastian was always so unnecessarily suggestive, he could definitely see why he had chosen the sniper as a-

Jim put a stop to that thought.

"Any specifics I should know about, then?"

"Just walk with me, head up, back straight, swing your hips a bit - you tend to do it, no need to glare at me, - and own it. I'll walk you through it all," Sebastian let his lips linger over Jim's ear just a moment longer than could be deemed socially acceptable and straightened up, looking at his boss expectantly. Jim found it easy to clear his face of expression. He raised his chin and took a few experimental steps, putting a sway in his hips, which made him feel a tiny bit awkward, and nodded. "Got it."

The double-paneled doors slid open and the couple walked in, arm in arm.

"Hello, Toby," the sniper said loudly to the concierge, a tint of disdain coloring his voice. When Jim made to do the same, he tightened his hold momentarily to let the other man know he wasn't normally that nice to service staff.

Jim kept up with Sebastian's pace much more fluidly than he had before, pushing down the awkwardness that his arrogant posture and rather embarrassing hip-swinging brought. Easily, he moulded his expression into one of semi-boredom, as if he didn't want to bother with the effort it would take to acknowledge the concierge, and walked on.

Sebastian had to close his eyes for a moment to keep himself from breaking down; it was all so familiar. How many times had they walked across the exact same lobby and preformed the exact same actions? As they reached the elevator, Jim made to let go but Sebastian kept his hold tight.

"Cameras. No microphones, though, except for the lobby area. Your men are monitoring every inch save for the private living space." He pressed the elevator button. Jim could feel his employee tensing up slightly as they made their way up to their floor, and realized how hard this must be for him. Such actions must have been agonizingly familiar. He focused on trying to remember instead of noting Sebastian's momentary tenseness - yet, even though this must have happened hundreds of times, he only registered a faint, buzzing pain in the back of his head.

"Right."

The lift binged to a halt on the topmost floor and the door opened to their penthouse residence. You couldn't call it a flat, really - it was just too massive and too posh to be ever insulted like that. There were no rugs, no Chinese vases, no stolen works of art worth millions of pounds. Just like Jim, the place was minimalistic, all cool metal and glass and wood, a tastefully simple arrangement.

Jim suppressed a look of amazement from crossing his face. From a bare, plain, cheap room shrouded in mold and made entirely of old stone and wood, to…  _this_. It had to be worth a small fortune, and he really couldn't muster up any adjectives other than huge and tasteful - some genius he was.

As they made to walk out of the lift completely, a man in a grey suit appeared seemingly out of nowhere:

"Mr. Moran, oh, Mr. Moriarty, welcome back! - I have the documents you required me to get - sorry it took so long, the Houses are a mess." Sebastian stood, rooted to the spot. He couldn't quite tell Jim what to do here - whispering would look plain strange. He squeezed the shorter man's arm for support. It was as if a switch had been snapped inside of Jim's mind and in a second's time he had schooled his expression into one of indifference.

"Documents? Oh, but surely you aren't speaking of the documents that I requested literally  _half a year ago_?" He didn't move to take them from the man in grey, instead raising his eyebrows mock-questioningly, praying that he hadn't messed up the timeline completely. He'd been gone for about that long, right?

Sebastian had to suppress a proud smirk at the slight slouch in Jones' shoulders. Jim was learning... well,  _relearning_  quickly and soon enough he would be on his merry way to the very top once more. What happened to  _him_ , the criminal mastermind's right-hand man, was a question he was not willing to investigate. Not yet. He took a step forward towards the cowering employee and snatched away the files, looking over them briefly. That had taken a lot of time, he thought to himself grimly as he turned towards Jim, whose regal posture gave nothing away to nobody, except for maybe the sniper himself. He knew the bags under those dark eyes were the product of sleepless nights, not work or clubbing. He knew that beneath those horrendous clothes was a thinning, bruised waif of a man. Clearing his throat, he looked up at Jim, an unreadable expression set in his angular features:

"These are the exact same ones you asked for several months ago." He grinned. "Should I do something about this?" He asked, watching Jones' face go ashen.

Relieved, though he didn't give it away, Jim allowed a smirk to creep onto his face as it occurred to him suddenly (and unsurprisingly, considering his profession) that he was a rather sadistic bastard. And then, not knowing entirely why (instinct, perhaps), he was overcome with the urge to rake his eyes over the pathetic man in front of him. He did - and was overwhelmed with information. Married unhappily for at least two years, heavy cigar smoker, cheating on his wife, two children: one in university and one in primary school (both female).

It was a few seconds later when Jim's mind supplied him with the reasons why he knew this: wedding ring, unclean and chipped; ash on his suit and some beneath his fingernails, the vague scent of his cologne (cheap, an imitation of a classier one - he wasn't trying to impress his wife and it wasn't a scent fit for work), etcetera. Jim cocked his head to the side in a rather reptilian manner, a feeling of familiarity rushing forward along with a fresh spike of pain in the back of his skull, which he ignored.

"Ooh, I don't know. How about we check up on his little girl?" He asked Sebastian lightly.

Sebastian could practically see the cogs churning in Jim's head as the shorter man watched Jones quietly for a moment before answering him. The answer itself floored Sebastian and he could barely suppress the look of triumph his face would have taken on had he not been in such complete control of his expression. Instead, a small, sadistic grin sneaked its way onto his mouth and he cocked an eyebrow at the boss (a truly remarkable actor, even in lack of memory).

"I'll pay her a visit, Boss, if you say so. Dismissed," he said to Jones quietly in a very off-hand manner and dragged him by the scruff of his neck to the elevator. Leaning in, he growled into the cowering man's face: "You will never come in here without permission again, got it?"

The doors of the lift slammed shut and Sebastian quickly made his way back to Jim, who hadn't moved throughout the entire exchange.

"Boss? You okay? I know this must have been… stressful."

Jim closed his eyes to stop himself from raising a hand to his head. Instead, he cracked his neck in that manner of his, freeing a crick he had received in the freezing holding cell. Sebastian stopped short at Jim's familiar neck-motion (he honestly didn't know what to call it, he only knew James Moriarty was the only human being on earth that could do it without actually twisting his vertebrae out of their sockets). It was too reminiscent of who he used to be.

"I'm fine. I did well, then?" Jim's voice gave away nothing.

"You did well, Ji-, Boss."

The shorter man shook his head. It wasn't right for the sniper to be so formal after all of this.

"You can call me Jim," he said quietly, peering around the rather magnificent... room. Maybe something in their residence would spring his memory, but at the moment, he was rather hungry. He hadn't noticed it before, in all the excitement, but now the painful gnawing in his stomach was back full force. He cleared his throat awkwardly, most of the confidence gained from the earlier interaction with Jones draining away.

"Ah, Sebastian?"

Sebastian was still grinning from when Jim offered him his given name. Somehow, he knew they would make this work. Between the two of them, they would rebuild their business and, hopefully, with time, their home. He let his hand skirt over the curve of Jim's shoulder and paused when his name was called inquisitively. "Yes, Jim?"

Jim ignored any possible useless, school-girlish reactions that may have occurred at Sebastian's touch. He ran his tongue along the bottom of his upper teeth before responding bluntly: "I'm hungry."

Sebastian drew away at that, a surprised smile on his face. "Sure, sure," he said hurriedly, gesturing to the designer leather couch which occupied a major part of the room: "Go sit down, you're probably knackered, too." He strode towards the kitchen, which was attached to the room by only an arch - Jim tried to avoid doors in the decôr. Flinging open the fridge, he inspected the contents. "Any particular preference tonight? We have black caviar and muscles and there's a fresh pot of oysters, some fois grâs… I stocked up just in case I  _did_ find you."

Jim sat down on the unfamiliar leather surface, somewhat amazed at its texture and feeling in definite contrast to his surroundings - what, in his shabby, threadbare uniform and tangled hair. And he most likely needed a shower. Startled out of his thoughts, he responded: "No, anything'll do." He was struck by the vague feeling that he had been a rather picky eater, but at the moment, anything really  _would_ do. He didn't remember what 'fois grâs' was, really, but suddenly remembered something the sniper had said only a few hours ago and grinned a bit. "How about sushi and Belgian chocolate?"

"Definitely not together, da-," Sebastian caught himself and sighed. This... lack of closure, whether permanent or not, would take a lot of getting used to. "Jim. I can call delivery, there's a place we used to love, both of us, we can get anything you want. Sushi is best fresh, you know." He grinned, remembering how Jim had told him the exact same thing when he himself had been completely uneducated in the ways of oriental cuisine. He turned; "I bet you want to get out of these clothes-  _no_ , I, um, didn't mean it  _that_ way, I-,"

Jim couldn't help it. He burst out into a fit of rather unmanly giggles, bending over and wrapping his arms around his middle. When he finally regained his breath, he gritted out; "Behave yourself, soldier boy!" Before breaking down once more. He didn't know why he found it so funny; maybe it was the reality of all this finally catching up with him. He was free from that miserable,  _boring_  place and its doctors, here with someone at least half way decent, and it was fantastic. That, and to be honest, Sebastian's face was hilarious.

Sebastian stood there for a moment, slack-jawed as his Boss and (former?) fiancée collapsed into fits of giggles before his own laughter joined in. It was easy, this semi-familiar routine. Sure, Jim needed to be reminded of almost everything but hey, at least they could laugh together. That had been one of the best things about the relationship they had used to have.

"Yes, sir," he said quietly, calming down. He wanted his Jim back.

When Jim sobered up, he focused once more on the feeling of familiarity of the situation. Being here with Sebastian felt like the most natural thing in the world, like the way he felt threatening Jones - and it probably was. He sobered up further at the sniper's quiet 'Yes sir', feeling the same sort of tension that was in the car come back. Again, in the silence, he went back to thinking about the blonde man, and again came the feeling of... a strange darkness settling over his chest. His mind was cruel as he looked around the flat and at Sebastian's sober face, reminding him that he wasn't the one that Sebastian wanted here. Just the shell left. He nods. "Yes, that would be nice."

Sebastian noticed Jim's face fall and he nearly cursed himself; of course, Jim could have been left with no recollection of his former life, yet he was still a very intelligent man. Sebastian really couldn't help it, though- he wanted  _his_  James Moriarty back. The bipolar, insane criminal genius. This Jim, he's important too, Sebastian's mind whispered. Somewhere locked deep within that now fragile mind was the real thing. He just needed to coax him out. For now, he would care for this Jim. It was the least he could do after what the man had done for him.

"Just kick back and relax, Boss," Sebastian said almost cheerfully and whipped his mobile phone from his pocket, dialing the familiar number. "This is the penthouse, we would like two sets of Unagi Maki with extra soy sauce on the side, don't hold the wasabi. Yes, and..." He paused, looking at Jim thoughtfully, "The Belgian chocolate pudding. With the waffle. And syrup. Thank you." He snapped his phone shut and leaned back against the wall, observing Jim, who looked entirely too tiny for the vast living room. "Do you remember where the bathroom is, by any chance?"

The criminal shook his head in the negative, holding back his apology. That wasn't how the criminal mastermind would react, and he decided that he would act like him as much as possible. For Sebastian. His (ex?)fiancée. Not exactly as if the man would want him now, would he? He wasn't really the great criminal mastermind. But he would make it easier for Sebastian and act like him.

"Show me."

Sebastian nodded and led the way down the hallway. The light grey walls made it look bigger for some reason and just as they stopped in front of the furthermost door, Sebastian turned to Jim. "Our bathroom's adjacent to the bedroom. Um, here." He turned the knob gently, opening the way into a light and spacious room, where the huge king sized bed was the dominant piece. Everything was covered in dust.

"After you disappeared, I... I didn't stay in the bedroom. Kipped on the couch. Don't know why, really. Just didn't..." Didn't what, you moron? Didn't feel right?

As they turned towards another door across from the bed, Sebastian's heart nearly stopped. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Right next to the door hung a large photograph of the two of them. It was strange, that picture - featuring both of their grinning faces, Jim biting Sebastian's ear playfully, showing off his slightly triangular teeth. The two men had laugh crinkles around their eyes and both were caught in a bout of humorous hysteria. The picture had been taken by one of Jim's former associates - now diseased, - during their work trip slash mini-engagement honeymoon to the Maldives. Should have removed it before I was after Jim. Idiot.

The shorter man spotted the picture and felt his breath leave him. Sebastian's grinning face, next to his own, his blue eyes lighter than he could remember them being. He hadn't yet seen Sebastian smile quite like that, so sincerely - and feeling the same sharp pain at in the back of his mind, he braced himself almost gladly for the memories that he was sure were about to flood his mind. But they didn't come. And he was left standing there, staring at the poster showing him how happy they both had been. Before this had happened and he was still actually  _Jim_. After a moment, he nodded stiffly. "Thanks."

Sebastian opened the bathroom door for Jim and gestured towards it. "The towels are in the biggest cupboard in the corner by the tub. Your favorite... well, I don't know if it is anymore, but your ridiculously expensive body wash is on the shelf next to the bath, I bought you a new bottle. We used to share our shampoo, you'll find that there, too." He paused, thinking. "You might want a shave, the electric razor is right next to the towels."

He turned to go before looking back once. "Do you want me to take down the photo? Does it make your head hurt?"

"No… it doesn't." It did, but Jim sort of liked the slow ache. He waited until Sebastian left the room to begin peeling the dirty uniform off of him. Sebastian left without a word. Striding into the kitchen, he opened the glass cabinet to take out a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a tumbler, not really caring how much he would drink. He wasn't going to drive tonight. And he would rather the pain in his chest dulled, just a bit. Ungracefully, he dropped into his favorite leather chair, the one that smelled like Jim the most, and closed his eyes. The sniper twisted his fingers around the glass, which shook finely in his hold.

"Fuck," he whispered to himself, screwing his eyes shut tightly. "Why me?"

Oblivious to the sniper's plight, Jim was enjoying a nice, warm shower, the first he'd had in... well, since he could remember. And it was fantastic. But, as his mind didn't ever seem content to rest on one topic for a long period of time, soon enough his thoughts wondered over to Sebastian. To whom he was, technically, still engaged. And who was - rather,  _had_ been in love with him. And was probably really fucking miserable right now... and there went his good mood. Jim scowled a bit, picking up the bottle of shampoo. It wasn't as if he was enjoying this either. Causing Sebastian to feel bad. Being helpless like this.

Jim looked down at his torso, gritting his teeth in an effort to stay stoic. All over his chest (and hips, for that matter), were little scars. Thin Xs, deeper lines - and in a few places? SM. Well, that was one mystery solved. The sniper's initials were carved into him, carved permanently, damn it, and he couldn't do anything about it. Make it so Sebastian stopped caring, or make it so he remembered. It occurred to him for a moment that he should have been more alarmed- he had scars carved into him by someone he didn't  _really_ know.

Sebastian pulled out a plate from the kitchen cabinet and loaded it up with the delivery that had been left at their door. Jim's favorite. Well, used to be. He remembered one particularly steamy dinner they had had about a month before Jim's disappearance - his consulting criminal had smudged them both in caviar and licked it off Sebastian's skin bead by bead. Shaking his head, the sniper set the plate down onto the table and called,

"Love-," Oh fuck it. He only hoped Jim hadn't heard him. "Jim! Dinner's here!"

Jim cursed. Love, dammit. The criminal ran a hand through his soaking hair, slumping back against the tiles of the bathroom wall. Love. Sebastian had to pretend that he wasn't infatuated with him, and he sure as hell wasn't enjoying it. After another moment, Jim turned the water off and dried himself off before pausing rather awkwardly. There were no other clothes in the bathroom and he didn't want to walk out in only a towel.

Sebastian knocked on the door of the bathroom tentatively, before settling down a pile of clothes onto the floor on front of it.

"I left you something to put on, d-, Jim," he said quietly, shuffling back to the living room to finish his whiskey. This was all just... not right. Sure, he had been devastated when he had first thought that Jim had died on that rooftop. Finding him again had been a miracle. But every miracle came with a price, didn't it?

There it was again. Darling. Still, Jim supposed it was not the time to wallow, and tentatively opened the door to grab his clothing. He was a bit ashamed to admit that he did gape: the fine suit (Westwood, his mind supplied easily) with its soft fabrics seemed overly posh, just to fit in with this new penthouse. Jim quickly changed into the outfit, feeling very comfortable and inexplicably right wearing it despite the fact he was barefoot. What a stark contrast. It came with an unfamiliar sense of power. Craning his neck to the side, he slipped out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.

Sebastian heard the bathroom door unlock and braced himself, his eyes locked on the plate of delicacies on the kitchen table. He would not break down at the sight of Jim in his old clothes. He would not. He refused. Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through the messages and calendars: lots to do for tomorrow. Karma was a feisty bitch.

The sniper looked up when Jim strolled into the room and his heart contracted with something... He wasn't sure there was a name for the emotion he was feeling: there was longing and a horrible sense of familiarity. Like déjà vu. But not quite. He let his eyes travel over Jim's rounded shoulders and his newly shaven face. It was as if he had never left, Sebastian mused to himself.

Not letting his feelings get the best of him, the taller man nodded towards the food. "Here. Do you want anything to drink with that? You used to like Moët champagne and Riesling. Oh, and gin and tonic." Sitting down next to him, Jim nodded. "The champagne sounds good. Just because I-" Don't mention it, he reminded himself sharply. "... I still like what I used to."

Sebastian groaned and poured some champagne into a silver-plated flute and carried it over to the table, placing it in front of the other man: "Here you go, love." Jim smiled thinly at the man in thanks, taking a deep swig.

"Didn't correct me there," Sebastian remarked idly, his insides twisting into tight knots.

"Nope." Jim smiled back, stronger this time, not saying anything else. Sebastian only raised an inquisitive eyebrow, watching his ex spouse-to-be closely. "How are you feeling?"

The smile flickered for a moment.

"Much better," Jim murmured in response, not thanking Sebastian. The old him wouldn't, right? "I assume you're not feeling very well, though? And don't lie." A pause, and then, "What do you think? I haven't slept for a few months. I feel like tonight would be the first calm night I'll have."

Jim shrugged, taking a smaller sip this time. "You can leave for bed early, if you're tired," he said, an odd tone in his voice.

"Nah," Sebastian replied, running his fingers through his hair and messing it up as he stood awkwardly next to the dinner table where so many things had happened; they'd shared meals, news, (shags). He folded his arms in front of his chest and chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully before saying: "Sleep doesn't come as easily as it used to now that I sleep alone."

 _At least he's opened up about these things a bit,_  Jim thought, setting the alcohol down. It was loosening him up a bit, relaxing him...

"Well then, speaking of that, we are still technically engaged." He paused, realizing how that sounded. "I'm not saying I'm going to call it off now, but obviously we aren't going to get married with... me like this," he was quick to add. Sebastian's eyes widened and he turned to face Jim completely.

"You don't want to call the engagement off? I thought... I mean... At this point, we hardly know each other, at least in your mind and I don't... want to put pressure on you. Plus I just can't afford to be strung on," he finished quietly. "Mental hospital was probably hell. I had a warm flat to myself, good food, nice clothes... But I have never felt so horrible as I have for the last few months."

The shorter man shook his head. "Don't feel guilty. And I'm not about to lead you on. I thought that if you wanted, we could try to… get to know each other again. No use in breaking it off - if I liked you enough to want to get hitched before, I probably still will." He shrugged. "Plus, if you don't mind me saying, you're very attractive." Yes, the alcohol was definitely loosening him up.

Sebastian lowered his head bashfully and grinned to himself before looking up, a small smirk playing on his lips. "You did once say I was sex on legs," he replied haughtily before clearing his throat. "Yes, I think we could... Um, try one more time. Yeah. Um, I'm Sebastian Moran, your right hand man and sniper extraordinaire - your words, not mine - and also your husband to be… should you like to have me."

Jim fought against the heat creeping across his face at that last part. Honestly, 'if you should like to have me', who said that?

"James Moriarty, your employer and psychopath extraordinaire. And husband to be, as long as you can put up with me. But you already know that." He grinned, holding out a hand.

Sebastian took the smaller palm into his own without hesitation: Jim had always been a very tactile person. The sniper forced himself to smile before he took a seat across from Jim, still not letting to of his hand:

"Boss, you really are the brains of this little tandem of ours... What shall we do? We need to get you back into the business," he said quietly.  _And into my bed._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare your bodies for the next chapter… It's going to be… well. You'll see.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? See? We're back very soon with a new chapter of your favorite - a.k.a our baby, - Cor Cordis. As always, please review and favorite this fic, we would much appreciate it.

The criminal shrugged.

"I have no qualms about resuming my work. After all, I  _am_  a bit mad. I can continue in this state of...  _not remembering_ , I suppose, but it'd be better just to try to fix it." He paused there. "I'm not sure exactly how to go about that - perhaps a sharp hit to the head?"

Sebastian raised an eyebrow:

"You're supposed to be a genius. A madman, too, but excuse me for searching for a modicum of self-preservation in you. We will take this step by step, all right? I know most of your work, and I'll be here to help out whenever the need arises. Is that fine with your ego?"

"As far as I can tell, I'm also a bit of a masochistic bastard. And I suppose my pride will survive considering the circumstances," Jim said begrudgingly. Sebastian finally let go of the hand, mourning the loss instantly. He sipped at his whiskey quietly, watching Jim look at the food out of the corner of his eye. The man had grown very thin, sickly even.

"I think I'll pay a visit to Baskerville Hospital first thing in the morning. Have a heart to heart with a couple of the doctors which I'm sure were very  _hospitable_  to you. Rip out a few tracheas, shoot a few heads."

Jim grinned, more twistedly this time.

"How sweet of you." He began eating, internally marveling at the delicious food. "Be sure to really get ' _Doctor_ ' Shcherbinina," he requested mock-sweetly. "Really, you're too good to me already."

Sebastian let Jim's mocking voice wash over him, remembering how the criminal mastermind had used it so many times while taunting his victims. He shuddered slightly, recollecting Jim's fiery character and his thirst for blood.

"I will make sure the good doctor is as well taken care of as you were." He leaned back in his seat. "Would you... like to ask me anything?"

"Such as?"

"Anything. I know they say I have to let you figure the past out for yourself but honestly? Fuck doctor's orders."

Smirking a bit, Jim licked his lips.

"Well... tell me about my ' _empire_ '. My enemies. I suppose that would be best to know before I go around getting in trouble with them."

Sebastian considered it for a moment.

"Well... You started pretty young, fifteen, you told me. Killed a little boy called Carl Powers. He made fun of you, you gave him botulism." The sniper paused. "Do you remember the name Sherlock Holmes?"

The name brought on a sharp sting in Jim's head. He raised a hand to it, restraining a wince.

"It... the name sounds familiar. Is he part of the empire or an enemy, then?"

"Arch-enemy, as you both believed. Although you caused him to commit suicide before you disappeared - your last deed."

Jim nodded in approval, grinning again despite the ache: "Good for me. Anything else I should know?"

"I don't suppose you want to know anything... Domestic."

Jim leant back in his chair, looking at the man he was... engaged to. It would be interesting to learn about the life he used to have, he supposed. "Please, do tell."

"What do you want to know? Our... experience is quite extensive." Sebastian managed to almost stifle a bittersweet grin at that.

Jim shrugged casually, tilting his head to the side as he usually did. "Oh, just anything that comes to mind. Petty, domestic things, like which side of the bed you slept on. Things like that."

"Left," Sebastian said quietly, staring past Jim at the wall. "You always preferred left. Although you would end up splayed over me most of the time."

A smile twitched at Jim's lips. So he was a  _cuddler_? He wouldn't have inferred that from the whole  _mass murdering psychopath_  enchilada.

"I see," he said, noticing the sniper's odd tone. "Something wrong? Aside from the obvious, of course."

"Nothing, just... it's strange, this. Knowing more about you than you do." Sebastian shook his head. "Never would have thought memories were so... fragile."

Jim raised an eyebrow, kicking his feet up onto the chair across from his under the table.

"Fragile? Love, those memories took a bullet to the head. Not exactly delicate," he reminded Sebastian, saying the words before they processed in his mind. How did he know that? Sebastian hadn't told him. And a better question yet, why the fuck did he do it at all?

The wind got knocked out of Sebastian when Jim said, 'love'. Just like he had used to before the whole ordeal. The sniper raised a hand to quickly wipe away the moisture threatening to fall from his eyelashes.

"Yeah... I suppose so." Furrowing his eyebrows once more, the criminal leaned forward. "Sebastian…?"

"Yeah, um, I'm fine. Something in the eye, I think." He turned his face away.  _Toughen up, you ninny._

Jim couldn't help the laugh that escaped him:

"Something you your eye, really? That old excuse? Oh my god, you baby." He chuckled, reaching forward without pausing to think, to wipe at the slightly wet skin under Sebastian's eye. The one he 'had something in'. Sebastian simply sat there, a watery smile playing on his lips. "You're the smart one here."

"Obviously," Jim snorted, leaning back, glad that his unthinking action hadn't been rejected. He really should stop it with these impulses - but oh well. They almost always seemed to turn out okay in the end anyway.

"We, uhm, we need to sort out the living arrangements. I'll kip on the sofa, but we only have one bathroom so I suppose we'll take turns."

Feeling a slight (ha, right.  _Slight_. Whom was he trying to kid?) nervousness rear it's head for the first time in a while, Jim cleared his throat, unsure exactly how to bring up the subject. So he decided to just blurt it out.

"Or..." he trailed off lamely.

Sebastian looked up, eyebrow raised. "Or?"

Jim glared. "I'm sure you can figure out what I was going to suggest, Sebastian," he snapped.

Sebastian smirked: "I enjoy tormenting you. At home is the only opportunity I have."

Jim raised a cool eyebrow, "You must be very fond of the sofa, in that case."

"I'm not, actually, even though it cost us twice the GDP of an average African country."

Jim shrugged, picking up a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth, still saying nothing.

"Fine." Sebastian sighed. "I will share the bed with you, as I have done. And not only because I hate the couch."

"Don't act as if you don't want to, Sebastian."

"I won't," Sebastian replied seriously. "Honestly, I feel like I'm walking on glass here. I have no idea how to act around you. It's fucking... driving me mental."

The slight smirk disappeared from Jim's face, and he frowned a bit. " _Honestly_ , it's not a huge deal. As long as you don't like... I don't know, randomly try to start making out with me, you aren't really pushing your boundaries. If that's what you're worried about," he added, and then, a bit annoyed, "The expression is 'walking on thin ice', dear."

"Our making out was never random, I'll have you know," Sebastian countered before letting his shoulders relax: "And I won't. I respect you too much. And it's not ice, Jim. Ice doesn't hurt when it breaks. Glass does."

"Oh, of  _course_  not." Jim responded a bit condescendingly, raising his eyebrows. "Rather poetic of you. But as I said, you're walking on very thick glass. If that helps."

"Last time I thought so too," Sebastian replied quietly, watching Jim's face change from giddiness to sadness to curiosity. "And I nearly lost you." He cleared his throat tersely: "Fine. We will sleep in our ex-pre-marital bed, if that is what you want."

"You don't have to."

"I want to," Sebastian replied quietly. "But in this relationship, you are the boss. Especially now when everything I learnt about you, bit by bit, over the years, turned out to be useless."

"I've lost my  _memories_ , Sebastian, not my likes and dislikes. I suppose if they're useless, you're not going to tell me anything of what you've learned? Like my past?" Jim snorted.

Sebastian put his face in his hands, groaning. "Fine. You want to know who you  _are_? A murderous, desperate,  _insane_ , intelligent, wonderful, amazing criminal mastermind and a loving fiancée."

Jim was the one who groaned now, in anger. "I  _told you_ , I haven't changed. I know who I am and what I like and don't - what I don't know is my  _past_ , what has happened to be before I shot myself in the head."

"You wanted to outsmart Sherlock  _fucking_  Holmes, that's what happened!" Sebastian roared, snapping, the burden of the last few months shocking his system back into reality. "He beat you at your own game and you didn't like it! Next thing I know, I hear a gunshot, some people take you away and I spend months looking for you, running  _your_  fucking illegal business and trying to cope with the fact that the man that I lo-, that  _you_  were not there!"

Scowling, Jim shot up from his seat, slamming his palms on the table. "I'm  _so fucking sorry_  that I was suicidal. My bad, it was obviously all my fault. Aren't you just a goddamned  _martyr_? Pity poor little  _Moran_ , separated from his lost love, taking on _big responsibilities_ while I was lounging around in a fucking terrible imitation of a  _mental hospital_  for months, and-," he cut himself off there with a furious screech and stormed into his former bedroom.

"Jim! Fucking-,  _Jim!_ " Sebastian ran after the smaller man only to have the door slammed into his face with a  _bang_. He stood outside for a moment, seething before running his shoulder into the door. "Jim! Open the fucking door  _right_  now! Jim!"

He hit the wooden panel with his fists, biting his lips when it stung before launching himself across the room and slamming his foot into the very center, making the hinges give out and letting him in.

"Oh, god, Jim." All the anger left his face when he saw his lover. Ex lover.

 _God damn it!_  Jim wanted to scream as he saw the door fly open and bounce against the bedroom wall, revealing the very object of his frustration. It was only when the anger drained from the sniper's face that Jim noticed the furious tears making their way down his own face. He wiped them away roughly, sending a death-glare reminiscent of the old days. If looks could kill, Sebastian would be dead sevenfold. "Get the fuck  _out_!"

Sebastian shook his head defiantly and made his way across the room and sat down next to the bed where Jim was perched. He kneeled, not touching Jim quite yet, afraid of spooking the already traumatized man. "Jim, look... I'm sorry, all right? This was hard on both of us and I should not blame you for everything that's happened and... I wish you would let me back in, like you used to, and I know it's not possible right now, maybe it won't be possible ever, now that I don't mean as much but for as long as you want me, I will be here. Sniper, friend, lover, personal assistant, arse wiper - anything."

The anger slowly ebbing away and being replaced with a startling numbness, Jim stared at the man next to him. He could still hear his heart beating loudly in his ears.

"Just-, fine. Whatever. Could you leave?" He commanded more than asked, posture stiff as he moved his gaze to the wall. He might regret it later - but right now he wanted nothing to do with the sniper, or anyone, really.

Sebastian made to nod before changing his mind:

"I don't think you should be left alone tonight. Or any night in the next two weeks, at the very least." He paused, running his fingers through his hair. "You know, I used to be the only person you trusted. Don't keep this all bottled inside. It will destroy you and I cannot watch you do that with yourself.'

"What, you think I'll kill myself again, or are you just lonely?" Jim snapped in reply, feeling no regret at the harsh comment. "And  _you_  - who else would I trust? Who else do I  _know_?" He laughed bitterly.

"I'll be fine." He wasn't sure if it was a lie or not, but now he was strangely tired. Exhausted. "Always the selfish one, aren't you," he murmured, gaze dropping to the hands in his lap. "I think I can survive the night."

"Well, I can _not_ ," Sebastian admitted sharply. "Excuse me if wanting to spend the night next to the person to whom I am indebted with my life, whom I love - still do even after all the bullshit we've been through, - and wanting to make him better. I trust you not to kill yourself. You're too smart for it." He crawled up onto the bed next to Jim. "Not moving."

"I seem to recall you saying the couch was rather comfortable." The criminal pushed himself up from the bed, ignoring the last part of Sebastian's speech and moving toward the door. He didn't mind the sofa - it was probably much more comfortable than the bed he'd been sleeping on for the past six months.

"Stop. Please." Sebastian's voice broke. He sat on the huge bed, feeling tiny in the vastness of the cold room with Jim threatening to walk out.

"Mr. Moriarty," he began, the title stiff in his throat. "Please allow your employee this one indulgence."

Jim stopped abruptly, his hand ghosting over the cold metal of the doorknob. His stomach lurched at the sound of Sebastian's cracking voice, and he knew,  _knew_  that this was a deciding moment. His -  _their_  entire future, whatever the fuck was between them, everything, felt like it depended on whether he opened the door and walked away, or turned back around and stayed the night. The decision should have been obvious: break it off (because that was what walking out would be, undeniably) or stay. He paused and for a few terrible moments he stood there, one hand on the knob.

Sebastian sat, holding his breath in anticipation before his hands clenched into fists of his own accord and he lowered his face so that Jim wouldn't see it go ashen. All this time, all this work, all the heartbreak he'd endured looking for his fiancée, and now one argument felt like the end. It wasn't, of course, he knew they were unable to live without each other no matter what memories they retained but tonight, this first night felt like the only thing standing between Jim and no Jim.

The shorter man closed his eyes upon hearing Sebastian's steady breathing halt. The suspense in the air was stifling, suffocating. He had to choose soon or he would surely run out of air. Swallowing, his pale hand slipped off the knob and he stood there for a while, trying to collect all of these emotions that he was unaccustomed to dealing with. Finally, he stepped back wordlessly to Sebastian.

The tension flooded out of Sebastian's back immediately as he felt his heart unravel inside his chest. The knot in his throat tightened and suddenly he felt one hundred years old. Standing up, he walked slowly towards the smaller man, halting mere inches from him.

"I missed you so much," he whispered, lowering his eyes. "I know you're confused right now. I just wanted to put it out there."

Jim sighed, his head falling again, inches away from Sebastian's chest. How easy it would be to reach out and lay a hand on him now, to hit him or to rest his head on the taller man's shoulder. Both certainly were what his instinct was telling him to do; perhaps it was a vague remembrance of the past, from when he was closer to Sebastian, from when they were lovers and when they were employee and employer. Perhaps it was just the need for human contact after all of that time alone. Either way, he couldn't be bothered with all of these annoying emotions at the moment.  _Fuck the consequences,_  he decided. If he wanted to step forward and wrap his arms around his sniper, then he would. If he wanted to slap a hand across his cheek, he would do that too.

Sebastian was stock-still as he watched the cogs turn inside Jim's head. It was hard not to break the silence but he endured, remembering the years of rigorous training in the army, when he had been stationed in the blazing sun for hours with nothing more than a bottle of the cheapest commercial sunscreen and a flimsy Panama hat. This was similar. Jim wasn't the sun. He was much brighter. He burnt much more painfully.

Eyes still closed, as if he were afraid of opening them and seeing Sebastian's reaction, Jim shuffled forward and hesitantly raised his arms around the taller man's torso, feeling exceptionally awkward about it all the while, of course, which just made him want to simultaneously hurt Sebastian, too.

Sebastian snapped, bringing his arms around Jim's slight form feverishly yet carefully, not to hurt his... well, his  _Boss_ , of course. He stepped into the embrace and wrapped his arms around the thin shoulders, marveling at the feeling of  _home_. God, he was such a ninny.

"Welcome back," he whispered brokenly, watching the wall behind Jim's back become blurrier.

Jim exhaled, feeling a vague sense comfort wash over him. It felt natural here with Sebastian - but then, he supposed it was the memories again. Hearing the broken note in his sniper's voice, he raised a hand to the small of his back, pulling him closer to comfort him awkwardly. But hey, he was supposed to be a 'loving fiancée,' wasn't he?

Sebastian sniffed, rolling his eyes at himself: he should be the one comforting Jim, after all he had spent the last months in a comfortable penthouse flat, running a multimillion illegal business. He inhaled Jim's clean scent and nuzzled into the crook of the man's soft shoulder.

"How is your head?" He mumbled.

The shorter man suppressed a shiver at the feeling of warm skin against his for the first time in God knows when.  _Stop it_ , he told himself.

"As well as could be expected. It mostly hurts when I remember something."

"I know the feeling," Sebastian mused, whispering into Jim's ear. Usually it was the other way around... at least it had used to be, when Jim would softly command him through an earpiece on a mission, mixing instructions with threats and promises and seductive purrs.

Oddly, Jim couldn't hold back an amused snort at that.

"Lighten up, would you?" He rolled his eyes, or he would if they were open. "As far as I can tell, things are going fairly well this far. Stop with the _angst_."

Sebastian let out a chuckle: "Easy for you to say. I have to conduct three robberies tomorrow, one treason and a couple of homicides." He shook his head, letting go of Jim and looking him in the eye: "And babysitting you, making sure you don't get killed as well, kitten."

Just as suddenly, Jim scowled. Again with the baby talk.

"Babysitting me? Honestly, Sebastian. I am not _helpless_ , I think I can make it through the day. And you're the kitten here - or rather, the cub." He said, perhaps pouting a bit.

Sebastian snorted. "Please, have you seen you and me?"

He took Jim by the shoulder and spun them around to face the floor-length mirror on the wall. "You used to call me Tiger. Because of the tattoos and the scars. We couldn't quite find an animal name for you, though. So I took up kitten as a safer option."

 _Oh, see how sexy we look together,_ Jim thought appraisingly, eyes on the mirror. "Tiger. That fits." A thought popped seemingly randomly into his head. _Spider_. He ignored it. "...fine. But I am a very ferocious kitt-," he cut himself off, eyes widening fractionally. "Never mind, I didn't just say that."

"I believe you did, Boss," Sebastian laughed, standing behind Jim and putting an arm around his shoulders and leaning his chin on the other man's juncture between the clavicle and the neck. He surveyed them in the mirror with hooded eyes: "I suppose we do fit. You once said we were the sexiest criminals in the world. Hah, I think even Sherlock Holmes would have called us that."

Jim blanked for a moment-, oh yes, his great arch rival. He chuckled. "Even he couldn't deny it."

Gazing into the mirror, Jim felt Sebastian's warmth radiating through his shirt and the sniper's breath on his skin. The blonde smelled like cigarette smoke and cotton and the whisky he had been drinking. It felt like home... what a sentimental thought. He noticed that his reflection's suit, once probably tailored to perfection, was a bit loose. "What now, then,  _Tiger_? Bedtime for the big bad criminals?"

"Yes, of course," Sebastian snapped out of his reverie and turned to look at Jim, who, once regal and completely in control, looked a bit awkward in the Westwood two-piece. They would have to resew it. Or better yet, feed him up with more beluga caviar and Belgian truffles. Casting a glance at the bed, Sebastian asked: "You sure it's okay for me to sleep with you tonight, Jim?"

"I would make an innuendo out of that, but I suppose it would be wholly too predictable," Jim mused, turning his head back to the taller man. "Yes, I'm sure. In fact, we're even going to skip that whole awkward step when we just get in and are lying there stiffly. That's an order."

Sebastian shook his head: "Am I that predictable?"

He shuffled before taking Jim by the hand and dragging him to the bathroom: "Wash up first. Your gold-plated toothbrush," he rolled his eyes, "…is vying for your attention."

Jim sent him an incredulous look.

"Gold-, are you serious?" He snorted, peering to the counter. His eyes widened. "You're kidding _._ "

"Sorry, Princess." Sebastian shrugged, mirth in his eyes as he took out their two absolutely normal-looking toothbrushes from the cabinet. "Could not resist teasing your haute way of living."

The criminal glared, pouting a bit.

"Oh, you'd gotten my hopes up. And that's  _Queen_ , to you," he scolded, grabbing the brush and pointing it as menacingly as possible (which... well, it was a  _toothbrush_ ) at Sebastian, who only shrugged, stuffing his brush into his mouth and twisting the tap.

"Your words, not mine," he mumbled through the bristles and gave Jim a minty grin. Sebastian stood his ground, grunting when Jim's elbow came in contact with his stomach. He spit out the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth before turning to Jim: "I need a shower. You staying and watching?"

The shorter man almost choked before composing himself, spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste and rinsing before answering (with the usual amused-eyebrow-raise-and-half-smirk): "Although I  _do_  seem to enjoy looking at nice things - I believe it's the hedonist in me, - I'm afraid I'll pass on that one, Sebby dearest."

"Fine, be that way," Sebastian replied, not giving Jim a chance to say anything in contradiction and dropping the rest of his clothes onto the floor. He walked into the shower and twisted the knob for the hottest water he could bear. As the stream poured onto his head in cascades courtesy of a two thousand pound Hans Grohe showerhead, he leaned back against the wall. What a mess.

By the time Sebastian's clothes hit the floor, Jim has already turned around and exited the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He collapsed onto the soft bed, not bothering to remove his fine, no doubt  _very expensive_  Westwood suit. The day had been utterly exhausting and he was surprised he hadn't just kipped off already. From living in a hellhole of a mental facility, insane and alone (well, he was still insane, he supposed) to owning a _penthous_ e with an attractive blonde fiancée he didn't know he had. The scars and scratches, old and new, on his back (courtesy of the lovely doctors) still stung vaguely against the silk sheets and the new suit.

Sebastian stepped out of the bathroom, a pair of loose silk pants covering his tired legs, his chest bare. He raised an eyebrow to look at his fiancée spread out on the bed, ignoring his own fashion rules: never wrinkle a suit.

"You getting ready for bed or what?" Sebastian asked before going to his side and slipping under the light summer covers. "Here, it's been a long day. You need to rest."

Jim didn't respond except for a soft, tired groan, having almost fallen asleep by then, lulled to sleep by the steady stream of water from the next room over. Slowly, he sat up, unbuttoning the jacket and having a bit more difficulty with the crisp white shirt underneath. Deciding it would be too much effort to get up and get a pair of bottoms, the criminal simply tossed the articles off onto the floor and slid underneath the sheets.

Sebastian's arms moved of their own accord as they itched to wrap themselves around the smaller form. No, Sebastian told himself firmly, not unless Jim says it would be fine. Instead, he settled for giving his boss an awkward pat on the shoulder: "Night, kitten."

Jim summoned up enough strength to open and roll his eyes. "Seriously?" He muttered groggily. They were sleeping in the same bed, Sebastian had offered to let Jim watch him shower, and  _now_ he was getting nervous? Really, patting him on the shoulder, for God's bloody sake. "Not the time to get antsy."

Sebastian grinned into the dark and scooted closer, spooning behind Jim carefully and pulling the smaller man into his arms, holding him flush against his chest. He pressed his face into the crook of Jim's neck and inhaled.

"Can I just say it?" He asked quietly, knowing Jim was about to fall asleep. "Just to see if it feels the same?"

The shorter man felt his face become hot at the feeling of Sebastian's arms around his bare chest and pressed against his back. It was a good thing that it was dark. He exhaled quietly, his sleep-fogged mind wondering what the sniper was talking about. He didn't know, but he  _did_ know that he was warm and content. He pressed back into Sebastian, almost asking before it hit him. He nodded a yes, tentatively wondering how exactly he would feel about it himself.

"I love you," Sebastian whispered before pressing a small kiss to Jim's now clean-shaven cheek and settling back down onto the pillow, not removing his arms from around his madman. If he were to pretend that the past few months hadn't happened, it would have been a normal, mundane night for both of them. From the expensive dinner to the words he had said just now, it was all the same. There was one thing missing: Jim's reply. But he would learn to live without it.

Jim's eyes closed at the softly spoken words, his chest fairly clenching. This was not love - because for all that he liked Sebastian already, for all that he was, after only a day, Jim's lifeline, no matter if something deep inside him knew Sebastian and was addicted to him... well, he didn't know the man well enough to love him yet. He let a sigh out when the taller man's lips brushed his cheek, burying himself in his pillow and the lanky arms, staying quiet. He knew that he  _could_ love him, in time. And hopefully, he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right in the feels, eh? Well, since Anna decided to troll me for a bit on this chapter, I, Mari, will do some video-pimping. I made a slightly pornographic video for MorMor (to Simon Curtis' Flesh) and it's on youtube over here: /watch?v=3hYP553OqXs . If you could just... Watch that? Thanks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our wonderful faithful readers,
> 
> We are gloriously back from our hiatus-y thingy that we had with another chapter of Cor Cordis. 
> 
> Please comment :)

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Sebastian woke to the steady sound of water droplets beating on the sink, echoing into the bedroom through the unclosed door of the bathroom. He groaned quietly, feeling a dead weight settled on top of his arm, trapping him to the bed. _Who the fuck…?_

Then it hit him. The morning suddenly became much better as he smirked blearily and pressed a kiss to the spot behind Jim's ear, watching the other man’s chest move steadily as he breathed. The Boss was home. Settling back onto the sheets, Sebastian willed himself to relax, even though his arm was really starting to bother him. Jim deserved some rest.

The smaller Irishman woke up to something brushing his ear and a strange dripping noise disturbing his slumber. For a moment, his mind flew back to his usual resting place– and the tapping was the rainwater dripping through a crack or hole in the ceiling (he’d been put in the decaying wing, surrounded with ruin and made to feel as if, while the days passed without incident that he, too, was decaying slowly, even as he drew another breath), and the brush was the hand of an intruding doctor. Then he realized something was not quite right.

The bed was too soft and comfortable. He was too warm and inexplicably _safe_ for that to be true. He calmed, only then noticing the arms he was entwined in and he remembered, relaxed, feeling a sleepy half-smile twitch at the corner of his lips.

“Morning,” Sebastian whispered into Jim's ear, making the smaller man shiver involuntarily. “No need to pretend you're asleep, we’ve lived together for quite some time.”

He snuggled closer to Jim, hanging on to the illusion that everything was just the same as it had been several months ago. In five minutes, they would get up, take turns in the bathroom (Jim had always insisted morning sex slowed him down, though sometimes, ever a lover of ‘starting the morning off right,’ Sebastian had succeeded in convincing him), and then go have breakfast together, discussing all the plans for the day. Jim’s phone would beep regularly, making changes in their packed schedule.

Jim, with his soft edges and vulnerable, thin body hummed, and the illusion broke. 

“Mph, I assumed,” he said groggily, allowing the sniper to press closer to him. Somewhere in his sleep-fogged mind it occurred to him that Sebastian must still be upset this morning, realizing that things wouldn’t be the same. That he would have to guide him through the day. That in itself didn’t bother him as much as it should have – he was free now. That was all that really mattered at the moment. 

“You assumed,” Sebastian scoffed before giving Jim another absent-minded peck on the cheek and pulling away, half-surprised that he’d gotten away with the gesture of affection, wriggling his arm from under the smaller man and laying on his back to look up at the grey ceiling. God, he hated it when reality set in during the wee hours of the morning. What a waste. He exhaled, suddenly aching for a fag, and forced himself to speak. 

“Well, Boss, we’ve got a whole day ahead of us. The whole crime world’s been waiting for your return with bated breath and to be honest, I wasn’t that thrilled about taking over your job either. So, time to get up, Princess.”

The shorter criminal groaned, closing his eyes again and burrowing his face into the pillow. 

“ _Must_ I get up?” He whined, muffled by the pillow. The first (natural) good night’s sleep he’d had in his own memory, and the bed was so _comfortable_ … He knew that he had to face the day eventually, but some part of his brain just wanted to escape. Sebastian's face softened when he saw Jim shrink into the mattress, and put a hand onto the man's small shoulder, shaking him gently.

“I know you’re curious to see what your business is like. And I bet you can't say no to my special morning latte.” He smirked to himself. “Perhaps a ride in your Porsche. And we will have an hour to plan the painful demise of the people who kept you in the clinic.”

Jim perked up a bit with interest. 

“Maybe, probably not, and I have a Porsche?” He muttered, turning over on his back and letting a smirk twitch his lips.  “Ah, Sebastian, you know just how to make a guy feel special.” He cracked an eye open. “…Fine.”

“Good.” Sebastian stretched his arms above his head and turned to look at Jim. “Do you want to take a shower first? I'll get started on breakfast. Any special requests, your majesty?” He asked playfully, sitting up and stretching his legs.

“I'll take eggs and a pile of toast _smothered_ in Nutella, my dear slave,” Jim ordered with a little smile.

Sebastian groaned. “Must you eat that stuff so early in the morning? Honestly, if I were to ask a certified physician, they’d be sure to tell me you went nuts with all the nuts.” He chuckled and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

Jim’s smile vanished. 

“Are you fucking kidding me, Sebastian? Did you actually just say that? Was that supposed to be _funny_ or something?” Jim asked, a disgusted expression on his face. He sat up, stretching. “God, I can't believe I keep you around.” He shook his head.

Sebastian only grinned, giving Jim a soft slap on the thigh, earning himself an undignified squeal and a poorly-aimed kick to the side. “You know where everything is now, I'll be in the kitchen,” and with that he walked out of the bedroom, whistling _Personal Jesus_ to himself while looking for a shirt to pull on.

After a moment, Jim shoved himself up off the bed and walked toward the bathroom, grabbing a new suit from the closet on his way.

“Don’t rumple the suit! I'm not ironing!” Sebastian yelled from the kitchen upon hearing the wardrobe door close. He shook his head and sighed. Oh well, Jim will just have to deal with it. For some reason everything seemed simpler in the morning. He reached into the fridge to pull out the eggs.

“Oh my god, yes, okay, _mother_ , I'll be careful,” Jim yelled back with a snort in his voice, beginning to strip. Honestly, it was so domestic at the moment, it was impossible to think that they were a pair of homicidal criminals.

In the kitchen, the phone rang and Sebastian picked up, placing it into the crook of his neck. 

“Moran here. Yes. Yes. No–, Yes. Oh, really? Sure about that?” He looked up from the cutting board to see Jim walk in, hair wet, pants and shirt already on. 

“Fucking hell, Jones, you had one fucking job to do and you fucked it up!” He growled into the receiver and then his face turned somber: “You will be hearing from us. Yes, _us_. The Boss and I. He's back. _Completely._ You know what the fuck that means, don’t you? And you better not fucking run, Jones. You. Better. Not. Fucking. Run.” 

Sebastian slammed the phone onto the counter before picking up the knife and throwing it at the wall. 

“ _Fuck!_ "

Winding a towel around his shoulders, Jim raised an eyebrow, staring at the knife now embedded in the wall.  “Jones? The man with the children? What’s he done now?” The criminal asked, rather calmly for the situation, but he supposed that the almighty James Moriarty didn’t scare easily. Sebastian merely growled, gripping the edge of the counter tighter, his knuckles going white. He turned to look at Jim and exhaled, making himself calm down just a tad. Anger management. _Had never worked for either of us,_ he reminded himself grimly.

“He secured those doctors of yours, three of them, to be exact, and then, and I quote: ‘turned away for one moment and they were all gone.’ Fucking idiot,” he said bitterly, punching the tabletop for good measure.

Jim froze, slowly turning his gaze to the sniper. “...Repeat that.” He commanded, voice still and dangerous.

“I won’t. You’ll get upset and you’ll go off killing random people. And we need crime to be organized.” Sebastian shook his head before leaning onto the counter. “Fucking Jones is _fucking dead_.  

Jim closed his eyes and exhaled. 

“Fine. Did he say who, exactly?” He asked, trying to calm himself down. So perhaps he wasn’t as different from his old self as he had formerly thought. Still there was that homicidal rage, apparently… And a very creative imagination.

Sebastian nodded quietly before turning to the drawer to get another knife out, giving into the need to occupy his hands. Butchering the bacon and vegetables as if they were idiotic human beings, he sighed. “Helinger, Smith and Laurels.”

Jim forced himself to relax.

Helinger, if he remembered correctly, was the one who was in charge of the hospital. Jim hadn't seen him before, having been shut away in the decaying wing, while his office was in the heart of the building. Smith, on the other hand... He was the doctor for most of the patients in the North wing, the one who gave most of the punishments, and had taken a special liking to Jim. Laurels he knew the best - TaylorLaurels, the psychiatrist and amateur scientist. She liked to try her experiments out on the patients. Luckily he hadn't seen much of her; but he’d learnt enough from the screams inside the neighboring cells, slowly getting louder every other night. He ran a hand through his short brown hair. 

“And the other doctors?”

Sebastian threw the eggs onto the frying pan, scrambling them viciously. Fucking _Jones_ had to go and ruin what had been promising to be a perfectly normal day... Well, as normal is it could have been, given the circumstances. As the eggs settled into some shape or another, he switched on the coffee maker and popped some milk into the cappuccino machine.

“The others haven’t been caught yet. We were hoping to get them one, two, three at a time. Fucking Jones.” He shook his head in indignation. “I wanted those three to be a special thing... Your first kill, so to speak. Miserable, old, _gnarly_ Jones is _fucking up_ my marriage even before it happens. Great.”  

Even under the inappropriate circumstances, Jim couldn't help but giggle. “Minor setback. We had probably better hurry up and round up the others before word gets out to them.” He raised an eyebrow. “How… _sweet_ , planning my first murder.”

“Should I walk you through it or do you reckon you can make a foolproof plan on your first try?” Sebastian asked gently, placing Jim's plate in front of him together with the horribly expensive silverware which was, in fact, silver.

Jim rolled his eyes, annoyed. Honestly, that tone was just so incredibly _condescending_ , as if Sebastian were speaking to a child.  The irony of the fact that Sebastian was giving him food and setting his plate as if he were one didn’t occur to him. 

 “I can do it on my own, thank you.”  He looked down, and nodded. “And thank you again,” he added, patting Sebastian on the side. “But I want my Nutella.”

“Jim, do you realize how many _calories_ we're talking–,” Sebastian broke off when he saw Jim's eyes bore into him, a strange shiver of elation passing over him when he saw the old Moriarty – aggressive, wild, uncontainable – behind the black irises. With a shrug, he passed the jar to his boss. “Enjoy.”

“That's better, _good boy_.” Jim petted him again and started slathering everything in sight with the hazelnut paste.  

“So then, I assume I have all the resources I’ll need at my fingertips already. What are the limits?” He asked, shoving some toast in his mouth. Dear _lord_ that tasted like heaven.

“Pretty much unlimited, boss. Well, except for the obvious things – time, gravity – you know, the universally unchangeable stuff – although you've said more than once that these things tend to be quite yielding,” Sebastian answered, taking a bite of his own Nutella-free breakfast.

Jim would’ve smiled, were he not busy eating. 

“Good, good,” he said, his words somewhat muffled by the bread in his mouth. He glanced at Sebastian’s plate and shuddered slightly. “Excellent, then. Where was it located, anyway?”

“Where was what located, love?” Sebastian asked, leaning forward, placing his elbows onto the table. He didn't notice his slip of the tongue. Well, it wasn't a slip, really, was it? Jim was still his _love_ , wasn't he?

Jim took a tentative sip of the hot coffee, not mentioning Sebastian’s endearment. No need to make breakfast awkward. 

“The ‘mental hospital.’ I didn't get a good look at the sign – after all, we were, you know, fleeing.”  

Sebastian nodded, lowering his eyes for a moment before answering: “Baskerville. You know, the military base? We might have had a job there once or twice. Dodgy place.”

“Too far from here?”

“A bit. I guess you didn't notice how much time we'd spent driving.” Sebastian put his dish into the washer, rinsing it with water before turning back: “It has been a   _b_ _itch_ , finding you. The government can be quite fucking good at covering up.”

“Oh, I haven’t thanked you yet, have I?” Jim recalled, finishing off his toast. “I suppose I’ll save that for when all of them are dead, then.” 

“You don’t need to thank me. I want the bastards dead as much as you do. I mean, the took you away from home and now you can't rememb–,” Sebastian cut himself off, knowing he would probably upset Jim by talking about it. 

The criminal froze for a moment, and then simply _tsked_.  “I know what they did, Sebastian,” was all he said while dumping the dish into the sink and turning back to his coffee. “All too well, I know. I'm sorry for bringing it up, I know it's been hellish,” Sebastian replied regretfully, soaking the dishes in the sink before settling them into the dishwasher. 

Jim couldn’t help but groan again. He didn't _want_ Sebastian's sympathy, no matter what had fucking happened to him. He was not an object worthy of pity. “It's fine. So, do I have an evil study or somewhere to concoct my scheme?” He asked lightly, changing the subject.

“I'm afraid you burnt that one down after a particularly cumbersome homicide planning session,” Sebastian replied, snapping back to business. Proud Jim. _Fuck my life_ , he thought to himself. “You can use the sunroof, I had a shield set up, you know you burn easily.”

Jim rolled his eyes. 

“That'll do.” He nodded, before plastering on a slight smile. “Sounds like it was fun.”

“What was? The homicide or the burning? Yes, you poured gasoline all over the walls and floor and danced around to the Styx with a blowtorch. Hilarious.”

He gestured for Jim to follow him out of the living room cum kitchen and into the corridor. He heard his Boss’s new shuffling footsteps behind his back and lead him further into the depths of the apartment. 

He stopped in front of a steel door and nodded at it.

“I don’t know your security code. Never was stupid enough to try to find out.” 

Jim’s fingers reacted of their own accord. One, two, three, four, and the door was open. Sebastian raised an eyebrow but said nothing, following his boss up the hidden staircase and into the open office which had been converted into a suitable working space from a roof. The insulation provided suitable comfort for them both to keep up the pretense that it was an actual office. 

The mahogany desk took up most of the space, loaded with dusty documentation and the occasional novel which had been read and abandoned halfway through. Behind it, a comfortable, worn-down chair, the only thing that had survived Hurricane Moriarty previously, stood proudly, offering refuge to the thinker. The wall opposite the desk was littered with maps and photographs, predominantly those of a certain horse-faced man and his associates. Sebastian bit down on the inside of his cheek. 

“Who’s that?” Jim asked, gauging Sebastian’s reaction. “The truth, please.”

Sebastian sighed. “Sherlock Holmes. Remember him?” Jim wracked his brain, while watching Sebastian’s face undergo a series of funny spasms. He turned his gaze back to the wall, and remembered nothing, yet had to repress a strange little shiver. 

The master criminal shook his head, cautiously making his way to his desk through the scattered objects all over the floor. He should have probably felt lost, but this one the one place he seemed to know exactly what to do. He paused a moment. “Could you leave for a while, please? I’d like to be alone." 

Sebastian immediately tensed his shoulders in a military fashion, nodding at Jim curtly, and walked out the door, trying not to look back as his neck tingled. He didn't know why he was so relieved that Jim remained emotionless about Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps he’d deemed his boss’s obsession with the detective to be on the brink of attraction or even lust before, but now Jim Moriarty, although incomplete, seemed to be completely and utterly his. The notion calmed Sebastian, filling his mind with warmth as he walked back into the kitchen and poured himself a shot of espresso. He pulled out his phone and fired off a couple of orders regarding Baskerville Mental Facility and kicked back in his chair, relaxing for the first time in months.

Meanwhile, Jim did exactly what he said he would. He sat down in the leather chair, and steepled his hands together, closing his eyes. No, that wasn’t right. He leaned back in the chair and opened his eyes, peering at the dust floating by in a ray of weak morning sunlight. Better. All right, so. _What now?_ Jim started shuffling around his desk. How did he... _Call_ people? To put what he’d thought of into action? No, no. That was for later. Now, he needed to some up with something.  

The criminal settled back into his chair again, a little more uncertainly this time, and went about it.

Sebastian's ear was very attuned to hearing the slightest noises in their flat and he smiled to himself upon hearing nothing from Jim's office. He leaned back and closed his eyes, maybe ready to dose off, when the phone started ringing again, wrenching him out of his reverie.  

“Yes?” His eyes widened. “Fine! Keep him there until I arrive! Do _nothing_!”

It wasn't every long after Jim had started to formulate a plan, the cogs in his mind really starting to turn for the first time in over half a year, when he heard Sebastian yelling through the crack in the door. The Irishman couldn't make out any words – the door was mostly closed, and it seemed his evil lair of sorts was soundproof – but he got the gist of it by the tone of voice. Something was wrong. Jim stood, quickly maneuvering around the objects on the floor, and came out into the hall.  

“What's going on?” 

Sebastian cursed under his breath when his boss's voice reverberated throughout the flat questioningly. Great, he thought to himself, as he put the phone down and made his way to the corridor where Jim stood, looking so... _so..._ There was no way to describe Jim at that moment. The professional, slightly mad light in his eyes was back, and his expensive clothes spoke of luxury that he’d been used to once upon a time. The bags under his eyes, though not as prominent as they had been the day before, and the way the fine shirt hung just a bit wrongly on his frame reminded Sebastian of how different things were now. How much had been lost. How much head been through that had been forgotten. Feeling his eyes itch with moisture, Sebastian blinked furiously and then cleared his throat.

Jim raised a mild eyebrow as Sebastian said nothing, simply staring at him with a look in his blue eyes something close to reverence. It did Jim's quickly recovering ego wonders, but he wondered what it was that made his sniper look at him like a starving man did water. And... Wait, tears? _Again_? Jim was surprised at how he reacted to the shining in those eyes, an unexpected mixture of both pity and exasperation… and annoyance. He didn't show it, of course. Was he always like that, or was it just because, secretly, he thought Sebastian was just on the wrong side of ‘emotionally unstable teenager.’ The Irishman shook it off, pretending not to have noticed, and froze at what came next.

“We got another one of your doctors.”

 "You... All right. _Good_. Where is he?" Never mind the plan he’d made up, this would be much easier, and quicker, if they did it right. He wondered if Sebastian was up for some torture, and then wondered where the hell that thought came from, and wondered why his head was starting to hurt again.

Sebastian swallowed the lump in his throat with difficulty and turned away to look at the blank wall across from him. He nodded, blinking hard once more, and looked back at Jim, his eyes completely void of any trace of tears. He needed to be strong for Jim, now more than ever, and he had no business falling apart like a fifth-former. 

“He’s at one of the garages our... _enterprise_ rents for these specific purposes. There’s a cleanup team on hand, if you're interested.” He looked at Jim cautiously, gauging his reacting.

When Sebastian looked back at him, the tears were gone, and for that Jim was grateful. He didn't want to deal with that, or acknowledge that Sebastian was sad or any other... _bad_ emotion. Selfish of him to want Sebastian there when he was upset, but not to be willing to help him when it was the other way around. Oh, well. He had a captured doctor to take care of. Jim raised an eyebrow at the taller man, a reflexive smirk playing on the edge of his lips. 

“A bit, maybe... but we have others, don't we? Others running free.”

Sebastian let out a sigh, thankful that his boss had let it go without argument, and smirked right back, pocketing the phone he'd been brandishing in his haste and looking Jim fully in the eye. He was momentarily entrapped in the dark brown, so dark they were almost black and all-consuming, but the shook himself, and reminded himself that he was a sniper first and a fiancée second. That was how their relationship had always worked. 

“Yes, we do. But I suggest we practice on this one while the others are being tracked down. Bastards got wind that we're looking for them.”

Jim nodded slowly, considering. His first... _torture session_. He wasn't sure how he felt about that; not repulsed, or disgusted. Morals had nothing to do with this, if he had any. The too-loose fabric around him, the reminder that he had only been alive (for all intents and purposes) for a few months, served to make him nervous. He pushed that down – it wasn’t time to dell on that. He had things to take care of. Jim hummed absently. “...That sounds fine... which one is it?”

“Doctor Mondejar... right bitch, according to our sources.” Sebastian shrugged, knowing Jim expected honesty from him. If he had been able to get his hands on the security footage of the hospital, he wouldn’t have watched it for one sole reason: he _hated_ seeing Jim in lost, or in pain. From the very first moment, when he’d saved Jim's arse for the very first time on a job, he had been reluctant to see Jim getting hurt. “Shall we, love?”

Jim frowned but nodded, stepping past Sebastian wordlessly. He didn't feel nervous, not exactly, but more as if something were wrong. He felt off. He felt frustrated internally, but he didn't know _why_ , because there was nothing to get frustrated about. Jim glanced outside a window as he made his way to the front door. It was dark and cloudy with the promise of rain, which suited his sudden mood perfectly. 

“Stay here,” the shorter man said. “In case there's any more news. More important than this. I can get someone else to drive me.”

Sebastian was across the corridor in a couple of strides and he pinned Jim to the wall without actually touching him, his two hands balled up into fists and pressing into the wall on either side of Jim's head. With a growl, he lowered his mouth to Jim's ear and whispered, his voice almost inaudible despite the apartment's perfect stillness:

“Boss, you own me _completely._ I will follow any order as your employee. _But_ since you've chosen to stay as my fiancée as well, then you can’t make me stay while you go off on your own. Not after what happened. Plus, denying me the satisfaction of seeing the bastards suffer is too cruel, even for you.”

Where Jim might have flinched in fear before or perhaps tried to back down, he just glared, annoyed beyond words for some reason he didn't even know. 

“Get your fucking mouth away from me unless you want it _stitched_ together, do you hear me? You'll stay here like I tell you to or, in light of recent events, I’ll make sure you being my fiancée is no longer an _issue_. I'll send pictures, if you're lucky,” he spat and ducked under Sebastian’s arm, striding to the door once again.  

Sebastian let Jim go, sighing and retreating to the living room. He nearly flinched when he heard he front door slam with a flourish and immediately downed a tumbler of scotch, failing to grimace at the bitter taste. He’d gone soft. He had forgotten what it was like to be with James Moriarty. It was like _Hell_. 

With a shake of his head, he retrieved his mobile phone from his pocket and set it onto the table top, expecting news.

* * *

Jim felt in a daze as he stormed out of the house and got into the car, deciding to just drive himself, working off of the directions that had been sent to him. He didn't know what the hell had come over him or possessed him to scream at Sebastian like that when he hadn't done anything _that_ wrong. As he started driving, Jim sighed, glaring down at his phone. He wanted to apologize. He didn't want his pride to be stung.

* * *

The last thing Sebastian heard from him was a short text. 

_Sorry. I'll film it for you. JM x_

Sebastian stared at the text, the joints of his fingers going stiff. _His_ Jim rarely apologized. Was that person even his Jim, now? Had he come back to himself, or was it just a bit of him coming through? This time the apology was welcome, though, even if it didn’t come for him Jim, so he let it slide. The sniper poured himself another glass before pausing for a moment, and putting it down. He awaited a sign, a message, anything to indicate that the job was over and that his lover was coming home. Jim was diligent when it came to signaling each other – it was one of the bases of self preservation.

* * *

Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. Thirty five. Thirty six.

Sebastian snapped up from his chair and stormed out the door, barely remembering to pause and take his rifle and handgun with him. _Jim._

Sebastian cursed under his breath, nearly breaking the glass on his iPhone as he punched the redial option with his thumb over and over again, getting nothing on the other side except for a polite voice telling him the subscriber could not be reached. He felt like stopping the car and vomiting over the side of the street. The last time he heard that voice, he lost Jim for a very long time. He was not about to lose him again. How could he have let his boss go out alone without supervision, when the guy had the mental stability and capabilities of a day-old kitten?

Swearing heartily, he activated the GPS on his phone, praying to Heaven and Hell that Jim's phone was at least reachable through the radar. Finally. A location appeared on the screen and he fought the urge to laugh. This could be a trap, he knew. He also knew that most of the people that were likely to kidnap his fiancée were idiots. He pressed down the pedal even further, earning himself several speed tickets on the way to rescue his Jim.

* * *

“ _Tell me what you said!_ ” The man spat viciously, finally loosing his cool facade after asking one too many times and not receiving an answer. 

“I don't _know_ what you’re–,” One of the muscle-men, now absent of his outer jacket, swung another punch at Jim's jaw. His head snapped to the side with a sickening crack, and he clamped his eyes shut again, trying to move it minutely; a shot of white-hot pain shot through him and he barely restrained a whine from escaping. _Well, I guess I got my first torture session in one way or another,_ Jim thought bitterly.

The man who was did the asking stepped forward, and Jim opened his eyes to look at him. Cold grey eyes, a hawk-like nose, short brown hair. When he spoke, his voice was utterly cold and reeking of barely restrained fury. 

“Tell me what you said to him, or I'll make you _pray_ that it was you who died. This is my _last warning_.”

Jim bared his bloodied teeth and spat on him, figuring that he might as well have _this_ if he was going to die. The man’s revolted expression was little satisfaction. As soon as he stepped back into his former position, the muscle-man swung at his head, and Jim knew no more.

* * *

The door slammed open and two bodies fell through the doorway, both formerly wielding guns and both dead. A man emerged from behind them, a monstrous, furious man. His eyes were a blend of numb and wild, it was as if he was partially unaware of his surroundings yet a determination of the kind that was bordering on manic shone through. His movements were completely controlled and only the slight twitch of the vein upon his neck gave away the fact that all of his muscles were trembling with fury. He stepped over the bodies, and into the vast space. 

When he spotted Jim lying in a heap on the ground, his demeanor changed. The rage shifted into the manner of a soldier. He was nothing more then a weapon, a faithful pet. He was not himself, he was an extension of the broken man lying on the asphalt. His arm rose up in an arch, a Glock cradled firmly between calloused fingers. He wanted no explanations or reprieves. He wanted revenge. He wanted to hurt these people for hurting him through Jim. He was selfish.  

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he greeted, his sight Irish lilt breaking the silence.


End file.
